


interference

by mikkal



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Hurt Noctis, Hurt!Noct, Hurt/Comfort, Seizures, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-03-02 03:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13309158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkal/pseuds/mikkal
Summary: One moment Noctis is fine, the next moment he's not. The guys are left scrambling.





	interference

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ivorydice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorydice/gifts).



> The seizures are, admittingly, not completely accurate, but they could be considered rather graphic. So, please proceed with caution.
> 
> This is 5,000 plus words of pure hurt just fyi. Maybe 200 words worth of comfort.
> 
>  
> 
> Edits: 10 January, 2018. 3.50am.

It happens between one event and the next. In the split second that Noctis exchanges the two-handed broadsword for his engine blade. Soul crystals appear and break around him, glimmering blue then, for a brief moment, flash purple and fade into red. Noctis stumbles, stabbing his blade into the ground to catch himself, gasping loudly in the sudden, startling silence that rings in his ears.

Ignis is at his side instantly, defending him while Gladio and Prompto finish off the rest of the sabertusks. He hadn’t seen Noct get hit, especially hard enough to leave him like this: trembling, barely holding on as his knees threaten to buckle under him. A gasping sort of wheeze escapes his lips, making Ignis twitch. He wants to check on his friend so terribly, but he can’t take his eyes away from the battle until the last of the beasts is dead.

It’s Prompto’s shot that ends it. The sabertusk doesn’t even have time to wail before it’s dead on the ground. Normally, the gunner would cheer and sing that ridiculous victory fanfare he’s so fond of, but even he saw Noct fall, usually so caught up in the excitement of battle he forgets to be aware of his surroundings. He dismisses his gun in a flash, Gladio keeping his sword out in defense. The area is silent now, only the sounds of brush bristling in the breeze, but one can never be too careful.

Ignis places a hand on Noctis’ heaving back, ducking his head in an attempt to see into his prince’s eyes. They’re shadowed by his fringe, tears streaming down his cheeks as he breathes harshly through his mouth. Saliva drips freely from his lips, blood oozes slowly from his nose. One hand might be braced on the hilt of his beloved sword, but the other digs into the ground, his nails scraping against sharp rocks. Ignis grabs his wrist, tugging his hand up to make him stop. Noct free-falls without the support, lost in loose-limbed momentum.

Prompto catches him, clutching him tight against his chest. The hand still held in the air by Ignis drools blood, crimson curling down fingers from gouges in the nails and tips, pooling in the divot made between Ignis’ palm and Noctis’ skin.

The gunner exclaims, wide-eyed and terrified. His lips press near Noctis’ temple as he tries to gain answers from Ignis without a word. Ignis has no answers, he has only potions. He breaks one over Noct’s head, then another, watching as his rapid breathing never ceases, his face pressed against Prompto’s shoulder. His fingers heal slowly, reluctantly, and the blood remains red and fresh.

Gladio glances back, expression pinched in worry and face pale. “What the hell is going on?” he growls. “What hit him?”

Ignis presses his fingers against the back of Noct’s neck though the gloves keep him from discerning anything useful. Red stains the grey leather, leaving a smear on the collar of Noct’s behemoth jacket, soaking the heavy knit of it. “I don’t know,” he says softly, the fear in his voice buried by the concern. Fear is almost overwhelming. He struggles to find composure, even if it’s internal. He grasps for answers, nothing seemingly right for what’s happening.

But what is happening?

“Noct, can you hear me?” His hand drifts to rest on Noctis’ back. The prince whimpers, whining in the back of his throat. “Noctis?”

Prompto oh-so-carefully tilts his friend’s face until it’s visible. His skin is bone-white, slick with sweat, with a light flush high on his cheeks. His eyes droop half-lidded, shining a magenta that’s almost red. Ignis sucks in a startled breath at the sight, his free hand moving to touch Noct’s cheek just under his eye with soft finger tips.

Suddenly, Gladio is looming over them, casting a shadow that causes Noctis’ eyes to practically glow with such an intensity Ignis feels sick to his stomach. He crouches, sword keeping him balanced but not in a way he can’t use it in a moment’s notice, he peers into Noct’s face with a deep frown.

“We need to get him back to the haven,” Gladio says, voice low in worry he can’t hide. Noctis whimpers again, curling tight against Prompto, fingers tangled in his vest. The gunner holds him tighter, shushing him with shaky words of comfort. “Or get to a caravan, we can come back for the camp gear. Hammerhead ain’t too far away.”

“Longwythe’s closer,” Prompt says quietly. “There’s a cheap motel there. We have the gil.”

Gladio glances at Ignis for confirmation and Ignis nods, thinking back to his budget books and the nights Prompto’s stayed up late with him, leaning a comfortable weight on his side as he looked over his shoulder with a helpful comment here and there.

“Gladio, get him up,” he says, standing slowly with creaking knees. “We’ll head for Longwythe, come back for the gear.” He peels off his gloves, stuffing them into his pocket. All of the important things are in the armory. They needn’t worry about losing anything if some hunters took refuge in their place.

The engine blade falls from Noctis’ grasp, shattering into red soul fragments before it hits the ground. He cries out in some sort of pain when Gladio hooks his arms under his legs and around his shoulders, whimpering incessantly as he’s hoisted against his Shield’s chest.

Prompto calls on his gun again as they start heading towards the Regalia, his grip tight and attentions alert. Noct’s foot twitches out when the soul crystals first form around the gunner’s hand and he grunts when it fully forms, his head jerking and smashing against Gladio’s chest. Ignis watches closely, but the prince doesn’t react like that again. He refrains from summoning his daggers despite the itch, and lets Prompto be their defense.

The Regalia is where they left it, slightly dusty in the afternoon light but with intact windows and no new scratches from curious animals. Gladio carefully slides Noctis into the back seat, Ignis at the opposite door to pull him in. The Shield sits, lifting Noct’s head to rest on his thigh, his fingers carding gently through his sweat-soaked hair. Prompto sits in his normal seat, twisted awkwardly so he can keep an eye on his friend whose own eyes have fallen completely close almost in sleep but his expression is pained.

The tense peace lasts until almost halfway to Longwythe.

Noctis makes a choking noise in the back of his throat, cheek muscles twitching uncontrollably. He tenses, tendons standing in sharp relief in his neck, back arching off the leather of the seat as a high keen bubbles through his lips. Prompto yelps, scrambling back. The car swerves a little as Ignis gets distracted. Gladio presses his forearm across Noctis’ chest even as the man’s arm jerks out, then up at the elbow, wrist bending and fingers curling. His other arm flies up, locking straight, smacking his hand against the ceiling of the car.

There’s no room for him to seize, his limbs hitting painfully against seats and people. And there’s nothing the other guys can do other than watch helplessly and keep him from rolling off the back seat. Galdio gets hit in the face for his troubles, there’s not enough force to mean much but it does sting.

Ignis is the one who counts how long the seizure lasts, going off of what he can see in the rear view mirror and the small noises Noctis makes that sound like he’s choking on screams. It lasts for two minutes and some change before he goes limp, breathing harshly and eyes half-open once more. Gladio snaps at Prompto to help him and, together, they turn Noctis over to his side in a recovery position.

Noctis stares at nothing, his gaze unable to focus on anything, his eyes that startling magenta still. His fingers continue to twitch, the muscle in his cheek at the corner of his mouth jerking sporadically.

Ignis presses down on the gas, his heart in his throat, contemplating swerving them in a different direction towards a hospital, perhaps a clinic if they’re not that lucky. This isn’t something they can handle. If their potions didn’t work, then what are the chances they can do anything at all to help once they’re at a motel? But, then again, if their magic potions didn’t work, then it’s equally likely a physician can do nothing as well.

The last time he felt this helpless, they stood on a cliff watching their city burn as Niflheim ships moved overhead, slow, without a care in the world. The last Lucis stronghold. Dead. What did they have to worry of now?

They pull into the small parking lot for the Three Z’s motel. Prompto stumbles out the moment Ignis puts the car in park, swiping the funds out of the armory. He wastes no time getting them a two-bed room at the end of the motel, far away from any of the other patrons.

Gladio carefully, oh-so-carefully, pulls Noct from the back of the car, cradling him in his arms with a delicateness most believe him incapable of. Noctis’ gasping with no sound, chest heaving. Prompto’s already in the room, having pulled the pillows from one bed and the two extra in the closet to pile in a heap on the bed closest to the bathroom. The comforter has been pulled to the foot of the bed, folded up to be pulled over later. Galdio sets his charge down gently on that bed, making sure his head rests on the pillows at a comfortable angle.

Ignis goes to the bathroom, running a few hand towels under some warm water and another under cold. He tosses one of the warm ones to Gladio, the other man getting to work dragging the cloth over the blood on Noctis’s hand, while he gives the cold one to Prompto. The gunner promptly folds it up and places it on Noct’s head, brushing his wayward fringe out of the way. Ignis himself dabs at the dried blood under his nose, frowning when Noctis doesn’t react at all. He’s stopped twitching, his convulsions having slowed down in the car and stopped completely before they pulled up in the lot, but his eyes haven’t closed nor have they opened any wider, staring at nothing in the distance with an empty, dead look.

Empty and dead. Nothing something he’s ever wanted to associate with any of his loved ones. Especially with those still living.

“Should we call someone?” Prompto asks quietly from where he sits at Noctis’ head, his fingers tangled in the prince’s hair.

Gladio snorts, an unpleasant sound. “Who the hell we gonna call?” he bites out, scrubbing at the lines traced in blood on Noctis’ palm. His own hands are trembling slightly, his gaze averted. “Anyone who knows anything about magic,” because that is all this could be, “is dead or the enemy or who even knows.”

Prompto bites his lip. “There’s the Marshal,” he says slowly, as if he’s not sure he’ll allowed to make this suggestion.

Ignis freezes from where he’s paying too much attention to wiping the no-longer-there blood off Noct’s upper lip. Of course, the Marshal. How could he forget? “Of course,” he says out loud. “Cor would know.”

He drops the towel unceremoniously on the floor, reaching for his phone. His gloves fall out of his pocket, dropping on top of the towel. He leaves it.

The phone rings and rings, loud in the silence that’s only broken by Noct’s rapid gasps and Prompto’s occasional sniffle. Ignis presses the fingers of his free hand against his eyes, trying to ignore the burning at the edges. Exhaustion, weariness, fear, drags him down to sit on the opposite bed, given the perfect view of his companions. Prompto refusing to let go of his friend, Gladio cleaning an already clean hand with a single-mindedness that plagues him when he’s worried and everything’s out of his control.

The other line picks up just before it goes to voicemail. “Ignis?” Cor sounds as tired as he feels, his voice rougher than normal. “What’s wrong? Why are you calling?”

“It’s His Highness,” he chokes out. Suddenly everything comes crashing down at once and it takes everything in his power not to start crying. “Something’s wrong.” He explains everything. From the moment Noctis first faltered to now, with him barely there and not even aware. “We’re in Longwythe, in a motel. We—I didn’t think a hospital would be able to help. And you know he hates them anyway.”

Cor is quiet for a long time. Too long. And then, “I don’t know.” Prompto sucks in a breath, Gladio grunts. Ignis can’t even breathe. “This isn’t something that’s ever happened to Regis or even Mors. From what you’ve said, about his soul crystals and his eyes. I can only think of someone is doing something to the Crystal.”

“Experimenting with it, you mean,” Gladio says, voice low.

“Yes,” he replies bluntly. “The Crystal works for no man who does not hold its favor. Right now the only one that does is the Lucis Caelum line. That’s Noctis. And whomever he deems worthy to share magic with him. Either they want to shred his connection apart completely or they want to share it themselves. Either way, there’s nothing we can do right now but you all keep him comfortable and hope there’s no lasting damage.”

“So helpful,” Gladio murmurs just a bit too loud.

Cor doesn’t even bother to respond to that. “Call me if nothing changes by the morning,” he commands. “I’ll make some calls, see if I can’t dig up something more conclusive about the situation.” There’s rustling like he’s pulling the phone from his ear, but then he’s back. “Believe this will be all right,” he says quietly, something assured in his voice that goes to straightening Ignis’ back. “Noctis is stronger than we know.”

Ignis nods even though he can’t see it and the phone clicks on the other line, leaving an echoing silence. He sighs, swiping to hang up on his side. The phone drops, bouncing on the cheap mattress and clattering to the ground. Everything is ending up on the ground this evening, apparently. Maybe Ignis should join them. Just laid down and hope for the world to go away, just for a second.

He shakes his head. What a ridiculous thought.

“Gladio, help me get him changed,” he says, shoving away dark thoughts and standing. “I doubt he’ll be happy to sleep in those clothes all night.” He drags a hand through his hair. “Prompto, perhaps you should see about procuring us something to eat? If not, I can make something, but—.”

“Don’t worry about it, Iggy.” Prompto lingers for a long moment, pressing his fingers against the towel on Noct’s forehead, then walks out of the room like a man sent to his death, glancing over his shoulder every now and then until the door shuts.

They work together with minimal talking. Gladio holds Noctis’ rag doll body up so Ignis can slide off his jacket and shirt. He hangs the jacket in the bathroom as a reminder to work on the blood that’s stained the knitted collar now. It’s not noticeable, but Ignis knows it’s there and it’s going to bother him if he doesn’t do anything about it.

He pulls the well-loved, well-worn sweater Noct wears when he’s feeling ill out of the armory, trying not to think too hard about anything as he’s forced to thread Noct’s limp arms through the sleeves. Gladio lets him ease forward until Noct’s forehead is resting against Ignis’ collarbone. He wraps his arms around his friend, closing his eyes and breathing deeply to keep it all contained.

“I feel so fucking useless,” Gladio says suddenly. He’s working on the laces of Noct’s boots, brows furrowed.

Ignis snorts. “Tell me about it.” He’s dragging a comforting hand up and down Noctis’ back, hand lingering where the scar from his childhood lays hidden. “We cannot contend the Astrals.”

“So we just sit here and do nothing.” Gladio slides their prince’s pants off, flinging them to the side, and struggles with the lounge pants. He scowls, grunting, until he succeeds, tugging on the hems of each leg almost absently. “Sit here’n watch him suffer. Nothing we can do ‘bout it. What use is a Shield against that?”

“As useful as a chamberlain, I imagine,” Ignis replies wryly. Gladio glares at him. He doesn’t want to let go of Noctis, despite the quickness of his breath, feeling his chest move against his and his heart thrumming is comforting. The knowledge that his friend is still alive.

Reluctantly, he eases Noctis back prone on the bed. He brushes the hair from his eyes, relieved to see them closed. His expression is twisted in pain, his lips cracking from the heavy, short breaths whistling through them. Sweat lines his hair, his face still pale.

The door opens, Prompto shouldering his way in with two bags of takeaway juggled in his hands. “There was a diner across the street,” he says. His eyes immediately drawn towards Noctis. “Any change?”  
  
Gladio shakes his head. “None.” He stretches. “I need a shower,” he announces. “I’ll eat after.”

The two of them watch him disappear into the bathroom, the door locking with a tiny click. Ignis sighs, pushing up his glasses then slipping off his jacket. He slings it over the back of chair then retrieves his gloves and phone from the ground. The hand towel is thrown over the radiator along with the other two.

Prompto arranges the food on the creaky table in the corner. He sits heavily into one of the chairs, his expression sad and world-weary. Even their resident sunshine can’t muster up some exuberance.

They can’t wrap Noctis in blankets, there’s too much of a chance of another seizure. The pillows are pushing it already. So the two of them sit side by side, eating greasy food with their eyes on their friend. Prompto wipes at his face every now and then with the back of his wrist, knee jiggling.

Ignis presses his lips together then, “Gladio and I,” he starts. Prompto jump a bit. “We were just talking about how useless we feel.” He doesn’t smile at Prompto, but he must see something in his expression for he relaxes a little, biting his lip. “If this truly Niflheim messing with the Crystal, there is literally nothing we can do.”

Prompto sighs gustily. “I kind of imagine,” he says. “But you guys have been trained your whole lives in service to Noct. I’m just some guy picked off the street. It’s hitting you guys heavier.”

“And you’re his best friend,” Ignis states. “Whatever fear or helplessness you feel is no less than ours.” Not exactly the best assurances as they go, but something loosens in Prompto’s shoulders.

“I guess.”

Steam billows from the bathroom door as it opens, Gladio stepping out in his sleep clothes and a towel over his head. His glances from them to his prince on the bed. Nothing’s changed. He takes the burger Prompto has out for him and sits on the opposite bed, eating slowly.

Ignis should take a shower, really. There’s blood on his wrist from where it managed to make it past his gloves and he’s covered in dust. He stands to do so, though fear churns low in his stomach that if he leaves something horrible will happen.

He doesn’t even take a step in any direction before Noctis tenses on the bed, feet scrabbling, head thrown back. He starts seizing again, his arms flailing and locking in unnatural positions. His fingers twitch wildly, his head jerking to the side, chin yanking up so his neck bends back awkwardly. He whines in the back of his throat, high and pained, then he chokes on the sound.

Gladio swears, lunging forward with his food and towel forgotten on the bed, and stumbles to a stop, hands hovering over their prince as his body contorts in convulsions. Ignis tries to roll him to his side, but his body is too tense and he’s moving too much for the recovery position. Noctis chokes again, his chest heaving and his throat working. Suddenly something bubbles from the corner of his lips. Ignis swears this time and shoves his hands under Noctis’s back. Gladio grabs his arms. They force him to his side, pushing until he’s halfway to being on his stomach.

Vomit dribbles from his lips to the bedsheets. He chokes then coughs up more forcibly. His body slowly stops jerking, the only twitch remaining in his legs, his fingers, and that one muscle in his cheek. His back stays tense, shoulders curled in uncomfortably.

“One minute,” Prompto mumbles, his voice shaky. He holds out the forgotten towel to Gladio, who proceeds to lay it over the vomit on the bed. It’s smeared on the chest and sleeve of Noctis’s sweater and Ignis takes a backburned second to mourn the comfort his friend is losing from that.

Ignis comes around and watches Noctis’ face for a second, checking his breathing. It’s uneven and shallow, but he’s not struggling. He’s not aspirating on the vomit. The relief from that is a small, fluttering thing, not enough to make him feel any better.

He glances down at the towel. “Can you two change his shirt and move him to the other bed?” He straightens up. “I’ll see to getting some new sheets. Strip this bed when you can, please.”

Prompto and Gladio exchange looks, but neither of them protest the roles assigned. Prompto even nods, already moving to pull up the edge of the fitted sheet. Ignis dips his chin in thanks then leaves the room into the cooling night air.

He stops just outside the door, falling against it with his hand over his heart and eyes burning with tears. His heart beats wildly in his chest, the adrenaline from that moment fading until his chest hurts. The stars outside are bright, shining down on him, but they blur in his vision as the tears well up and slide down his cheeks. He clamps a hand over his mouth to muffle the sob that wants to break through. Instead he takes an unsteady breath through an already stuffy nose. It rattles. He moves to breathe through his mouth, deliberately slow to calm his emotions into something at least a little manageable.

It takes a few seconds to dry the tears and bring his breathing back to normal, only because he can’t give himself more time than that. He goes to the front desk for new sheets, citing some sort of food incident to keep the front desk person from sending for a doctor or checking on them herself. She gives him a stack of precisely folded sheets, a new comforter, and a stack of pillows.

Ignis keeps his mouth closed against the urge to protest the comforter and the pillows, they have plenty. But even with plenty, someone might be sleeping on the floor tonight (tomorrow morning, at this rate no one will be able to sleep), and when Noctis is feeling better, there is a large chance he's going to be spoiled rotten. He loves his pillows.

When he arrives, Noct’s been moved to the clean bed, on his side, and now he’s wearing one of Prompto’s long sleeved shirts. The bed’s been stripped, pillows migrating to the other bed. Prompto’s eyes are rimmed redder now, Gladio’s face is stormy and worried.

With all three of them it takes only a minute to make the new bed. Ignis fluffs one of the pillows continuously for a full three minutes before Prompto finally takes it from him, clutching it close to his chest with wide eyes.

Gladio presses a hand on the small of his back. “Take a shower, Iggy,” he murmurs over his shoulder. “Please.”

Ignis nods absently. The behemoth jacket is hanging next to the sweater now when he enters the bathroom. Someone’s dipped the knitted, worn thing in water, scrubbed at the vomit that seeped into the fibers. He delays his shower to instead grab some detergent some other patron must have left behind from the bathroom closet. He works at the sweater until the water runs clear then lays it out over the sink to dry. The jacket will wait, it’s not the priority.  
  
His shower is quick. The creeping anxiety that Noctis will have another seizure keeping him from enjoying the surprisingly hot water.

When he emerges from the bathroom, Prompto’s sitting next to Noctis with his hand wrapped loosely around the prince’s wrist. Gladio sits on the edge of the other bed, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands. They both glance up at Ignis.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says slowly.

Gladio sits up and swings out an arm. Ignis stays standing for a moment longer before he sits next to him, letting himself lean against the Shield. Gladio’s arm is a comfortable weight as he rests it over his shoulders.

“Join the club,” he says with absolutely no humor.

They sit there in silence, watching Noctis. He seems to be sleeping, unperturbed by nightmares or pain. His fingers keep twitching, the muscle in his cheek alternating between seizing and not. Prompto brushes his knuckles over Noct’s face, lingering at his temple.

“What happens if he doesn’t get better?” Prompto asks quietly.

Ignis sighs. “Then we take him to wherever Cor tells us to and then go after the Crystal.” He presses the side of his face against Gladio. “If they do not have the Crystal then they cannot experiment with it. He will be fine after that.”

Prompto’s bottom lip trembles and he sniffles, but no tears fall. He scrubs at his face frantically before scooting up so he’s on the bed completely, leaning against the headboard. His fingers thread through Noct’s hair and he starts humming something quiet. Ignis doesn’t recognize the tune.

“Careful,” he says, his voice failing him just slightly. It comes out soft and dazed. “He might have another seizure.” Prompto’s nod is the only indication he’s heard him.

Prompto’s humming is the only noise in the room for a very long time. Distantly, Ignis starts to recognize it as some theme from a video game the two of them use to love so much. Back when they had a console to play on instead of beat up phones with a pathetic battery life nowadays. It feels like warmth in his bones and a breeze to his ears. Before he knows it, he’s drifting off in a haze of not-quite-awake yet not-quite-asleep. Gladio huffs, but doesn’t move. Which, good, or else he would get a tiny dagger in his thigh for it and the potential of sending Noctis into another a fit is not appealing whatsoever.

He lounges languidly there, just like the cat he’d always accused Noct of being, even as Prompto stops his humming and clambers up on the bed with them, tucked in on Gladio’s other side. Time stretches and stretches until they make it past the time frame between the two seizures, and Noctis doesn’t budge an inch except shifting his head so it’s tilted towards them, hair splayed around him like a particularly dark halo.

It’s the most natural movement he’s made since before that terrifying moment when he collapsed. A collective sigh of relief ripples through them like a wave. Galdio physically sagging, causing Ignis and Prompto to shift.

No one voices it out loud, though, their relief. There’s something fragile about it. One hopeful word could send Noct seizing again.

So, they wait. And wait. The clock ticking through midnight into the next day. Their bones ache, their skin stretched and dry from the emotional train wreck this day—yesterday—had become, but they refuse to sleep. The moment they close their eyes and drift off is the moment Noct will be lost to them forever, they’re sure of it.

It’s two o’clock in the morning when something changes.

Noctis sighs, his breath hitching once, then it slowly evens out. The trio on the bed go still, Ignis jerking fully awake with wide eyes. Prompto seems to be holding his breath. The prince shifts, brows furrowing, lips quirking down in a frown.

Then his eyes flutter open to stare blankly up at the ceiling. There’s still the faintest bit of red in his eyes, but the blue is more than enough to ease some worry. Not all, though. His mouth works, forming words without sound.

Prompto gasps finally, taking in a shuddering breath. Noctis’ head lolls, turning his face in their direction. He seems dazed, confusion wrinkling the spot between his eyebrows. He opens his mouth again, but all he can do is croak a meaningless noise. The rest of his body lies still, just the tips of his fingers twitching.

That’s when the panic sets in. His eyes widen, the haze not clearing one bit, and his breathing picks up. This time more in the realms of a panic attack than whatever it was before. Tears prick the corner of his eyes, dripping down his face to pool in his hair.

Ignis leaps from the bed, nearly tripping on the comforter that’s half-twisted on the ground. He cups his hands over Noct’s cheeks, firm and comforting.

“Shh,” he says softly, dragging a thumb over his cheek bones. “It’s okay. You’re all right.” Noct sobs a little, tiny and quiet. “You’re scared. You went through an ordeal. But I promise it’s over now. Just give it a moment to pass.”

Noct squeezes his eyes shut, his chin dipping in a nod. He breathes deeply through his nose, slowly out through his mouth. When his eyes open next there’s not a trace of red or even purple in his gaze, his eyes as blue as the horizon when the sun begins to rise. Ignis sags, resting his forehead against his prince’s, resisting, very hard, the urge to cry.

“Specs,” he whispers.

Ignis pulls away, just not too far. He waves a hand out behind him towards Prompto and Gladio. They waste no time scrambling to sit on either side of their friend in perfect eye line. Noct’s gaze flickers between them, not able to fully focus but he recognizes them and starts to smile, only half his lips turning up. The other half takes a second before it catches up.

“Wh—.” He presses his lips together in a thin line, frustration evident in his expression. “‘appened?”

Prompto curls his hand against Noct’s cheek, knuckles tapping lightly once on this temple, and explains everything. Especially what Cor’s theories are to what caused everything. Noctis listens, his face perfectly blank. His fingers keep moving and it takes Ignis a long moment to realize they weren’t involuntary movements anymore, Noct is flexing them deliberately. His fingers curling and then uncurling, his wrists moving next, then experimental bends at his elbows.

There’s dark bruises forming on the back of his hands and along his arms now, from the force of his seizing back in the car. They’re purple and blue, deep and probably painful though he makes no noise to indicate so. If he were to look, it’s the same sight on his legs. His boots saved his feet, but nothing saved the rest of his legs.

Noctis blinks owlishly up at them. “Tired,” he murmurs.

“No kidding,” Galdio says, a heavy hand resting on the crown of Noct’s head. “You ain’t exactly been gettin’ your normal beauty sleep.”

He shakes his head. “You,” he says firmly, voice faltering. “Tired.”

Ignis smiles a small smile. His hands had dropped from his face, but now he brings one of them back, relishing in the healthy color coming back to his cheeks. “Now that you are conscious and talking, we’ll most likely sleep.” He swipes a thumb over a dried tear track. “We were worried.”

Noct leans into the touch with a sigh of contentment. Prompto makes moves to get off the bed only to stop when Noctis makes a noise of protest. He clumsily swings up an arm, loosely grabbing onto Prompto’s bicep. Prompto’s smile is like the sun coming out after a month of clouds. He shimmies down until he can curl up next to Noct, threading their fingers together.

The look Noctis levels to Ignis and Gladio tells them that under no circumstances are they allow to leave this bed for the other. Gladio huffs with a wide smile. He tugs on Ignis to shove him on the other side of Noct, bracketing them on the end. It’s a bit of a struggle, but Noct eventually manages to turn to his side until he’s facing Ignis. His and Prompto’s tangle hands slung over his waist. He curls forward, his forehead resting on Ignis’ collarbone. Galdio swings an arm over them all, pressing his face against the back of Ignis’ neck. It’s a tight fit, in the end. It works, though.

Ignis falls asleep to Prompto’s and Noct’s hands pressed against his stomach, Noct’s breaths even on his chest, and Gladio snuffling at his neck.

He wakes up to Prompto singing in the shower and Gladio gone for breakfast. Noct sits on the edge of the bed, stretching out his legs carefully. He’s hestiant, tentative in his movements. A delay, it seems, when he moves the right side of his body. It’s still faster than how that one corner of his mouth had to catch up to the rest of his smile this morning.

“Noctis,” he mumbles, sitting up. He’s stiff, his joints creaking. It’s worth waking up to see Noctis turn and smile at him. His mouth moves properly and it light ups his whole face.

“Ignis. Hey.” His words are heavy and clumsy, a stumble over Ignis’ name. He raises his hands towards him, making grab-y motions. “Wanna help me?”

Ignis rushes to assist. He takes Noct’s forearms, bracing him as he stands on wobbly legs. It doesn’t seem as if he’ll be able to walk far, but it’s a triumph for him to be on his feet. Noctis beams, lingering shadows clearing from his expression. He raises his left leg, bending it at the knee, twisting his ankle. When he goes to do the same for his right leg, there's a flicker of a frown on his face that fades as he pushes through the tremors.

“No worries,” Ignis says knowingly. Noct’s smile stays on his face, softening just a bit when he realizes Ignis noticed his fear. Despite it being more than a decade ago, one can never push the terror of never walking again out of mind.  
  
Noctis shakes his arms to loosen them from Ignis’ grip and uses that chance to fall forward slightly. He rests his elbows on Ignis’ shoulders, leaning in and practically putting his whole weight on the taller man. Ignis braces himself for it, not surprised in the slightest. Noctis’ smile is mischievous.

Ignis barely has the chance before Noctis suddenly jerks back, falling onto the bed and bringing Ignis down with him. He yelps in surprise, Noct laughing breathlessly. They lay there for a moment before the moment is interrupted by Prompto bursting out of the bathroom, hastily dressed and panicked. When he sees them tangled on the bed, faces flushed from laughter, he snorts, then laughs himself, launching up to the space next to them. They bounce together, nearly falling off to the floor. Prompto drapes over them, promptly trapping them there.

That’s the sight Gladio brings breakfast to. Noctis stuck under Ignis and Prompto, laughing too hard to try and escape, Ignis trying to gain leverage only to keep failing as Prompto keeps managing to poke him in his ticklish spots. 

It’s going to take Noctis another week before he can walk properly, and sometimes when he panics his mouth refuses to form the words, the right side of his mouth failing him. The only good thing, is that Niflheim never tries that particular experiment again. Not that they had the time in the week before the group finally heads to Altissia.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I intended no pairings except, at most, some sort of ot4. SOMEHOW it started leaning towards ignoct if ya squint. Especially with that ending. Oh well.
> 
> I feel like the ending is a bit rushed but in the end I'm still rather proud of this piece. I hope you like it!


End file.
